Two years ago, I was intro'd to Roissey - the earlier incarnation of Heartiste at Chateau Heartiste. At the time I was exploring my mind on a psychology forum, one of the members sensed that I was ready for the Red Pill.
From trying to figure out my own self to figuring out women. He. He. He. It made a hell of a lot more sense and helped explain why my marriage had broken up.
Here is a big fuck you for society, fuck you and your lies and bullshit.
Though there's no real venom behind this finger. I don't really care enough to give much of a shit any more. It is what it is, getting pissed off at society is like swearing and cursing the moon: ultimately futile and pointless and ineffective.
At any rate, I chanced across Rollo Thomassi on The Rational Male. Captain Capitalism. The blog known as No Ma'am. And, more recently, Return of Kings. All of these I still visit, even though (in my opinion) the quality of Chateau Heartiste has declined somewhat since the old Roissey got married and retired. The old posts are still there, still pure gold.
A rollercoaster ride, still with its ups and downs, life goes on and improves and the ride smooths. Little projects - like this blog - get spawned, grow, die, or continue to lead a small life of their own. I continue to delude myself that this small voice has the occasional worthwhile idea to pass on to others.
Unlike others, I never really pinned my self-worth on the number of notches racked up. So the whole PUA lifestyle thing kind of passed me by, even though I dabbled in it a bit. It never sat well with me, jumping through the hoops of another's devising - playing the dancing clown - just to bust a nut in a hot chick.
Once I realised how mentally-damaged even ordinary girls are: that kind of destroyed the desire to chase 'em much. What I do these days is reflexive teasing, pull-push, without the intention to actually close. It probably pisses them off and drives them nuts. Hell, they probably wonder if I'm gay or something.
Burned out by hanging around too many damaged girls, I reckon. Which has literally been all of them here in NZ.
The western world, destroying itself, like ouroboros eating its own tail. Sit in the sun on my deck, walking down the beach on a sunny day, or leaning at the side of the bar - having a sip while enjoying the view. Detached, uncaring about others, doing stuff only for myself.
Not for me the outer shell of confidence slipped on by the PUA. For me, the rock-hard unshakeable confidence of the man who has achieved. Who is actual stone and steel to the icy-cold bones, rather than a crabshell hiding soft vulnerability within. Who truly thinks of himself first, with women being a secondary thing that can be replaced as desired.
Wondering when the world will crack, come down in pieces, go up in flames. When the egg at the center of society will shatter, split open, reveal the dead fetus to all and sundry. Watch as all the retards continue to deny the final and obvious truth, ignoring the blood of the beast on the pole, ignoring the crazed reflections from the shattered mirror that they're admiring themselves in.
When it does I'll have a little smile and lift my glass to it all.
Then - who knows? - I might go for a wander, explore this destroyed and fractured mess of a planet. There are many beautiful things to see. There are many beautiful girls to tease the fuck out of. Their beauty is another commodity, if you have the means to pay for it. Who cares if it fades?
There'll always be another.
What to do with my time in the interim. I think another business. I built one once, still own part of it. The structure was all wrong for anything to grow truly large, something that I've come to realise. Thankfully it's not the type of business to consume your entire life, weekends and all. Though that was pure luck. I pity the poor fools who basically turned self-employment into a 24/7/365 job that they can't get out of.
It's after 3am. Time to post, time to sleep, time to wake up and think and look for somebody's need. Objective: to fulfill it.
I'll be around.